Scrolls in the Cupboard
by EatYourRikkios
Summary: Odd Ideas file - mostly Potter-centric, with some crossovers here and there. Stories that have been run through by the muse and may or may not be continued.
1. Bonds Not Broken

**Working Title: Bonds Not Broken**

_The bonds of sisterhood, while eternally strained, never quite manage to break. No matter how much you wish they would._

**November 5, 1980**

The house was quiet. Oddly, so, Petunia thought. Somehow, having a playmate seemed to tire Dudley out more than anything she'd tried, and with Vernon out . . .

The house was quiet. The past five days had been.

She hadn't known what to think of it at first, of course. She'd just thought it a bit strange. Then she found the boy on her front step, and read the letter that Dumbledore man had left. Suddenly, everything had made sense, in a terrible sort of way. Her sister, the sister she fought with, had called a freak, the sister she'd proclaimed she could never love, that she hated . . . Her sister was dead.

That thought hit the thin woman with enough force that she sank onto her and her husband's bed. She thought, after taking in the boy, and having known for nearly a week that Lily was gone that it wouldn't have as much impact. But it did. Maybe even more.

She'd said she hated her. Sweet, kind, perfect Lily, the one that everyone loved. The one Petunia had loved, before all that nonsense came along and tore her away. All that magic Petunia couldn't protect her little sister from. And now she was dead, leaving Petunia to take care of her son, to raise him.

Why couldn't she hate her?

Petunia had always held that she, at the very least, cared nothing for her sister. At most, she loathed the girl. But all it took was a closer look than most people were willing to take to realise what a lie that was. To realise, as Petunia was now, just how much she'd hated not having Lily in her life.

On the dresser sat an old, large wooden music box, overflowing with letters Petunia had received over the years.. Notes from old friends, a love letter or two from when she attended nursing school, pages from her parents . . . and at the bottom, a bundle of unopened novels Lily sent. Every single one, from the time she was eleven to June 15, 1979. A few half-started notes Petunia had hesitantly thought of sending were folded in, as well.

On the shelf above the dresser sat a collection of family albums and yearbooks. Each had a photo on the spine. Three had Lily in them. Even in Petunia's closet, she realised, as she turned on the light and stepped inside, showed how much Lily had been a part of her life, even when she'd denied it. Party dresses they'd bought in the summer, giggling, the few times they managed to get along. An old careworn plush bear on the shelf above the clothes hanging up. It had an eye missing, and Petunia remembered clearly cheering when she cheated to win it at the fair, while Lily distracted the vendor.

Around Petunia's neck sat a round locket, with two locks of hair inside. One red, one blonde. Both belonging to an Evans sister.

Petunia slammed the closet door. Lily was _dead._ She was dead, gone, _blown up_ because of her nonsense! All that had made Lily, striking, beautiful Lily wonderful killed her. Her magic, her rich husband, her stupid witch school with it's stupid Dumbledore. It all killed her and left Petunia to pick up the pieces, to fix everything.

Like she always had. Like she would.

Petunia stormed down the hall and into her son and nephew's nursery. The Potter boy was already awake, staring out the window at the trees swaying in the back yard. She snatched him up and he didn't make a sound. She stormed down the stairs, and opened the door to the cupboard under the stairs. Cleaning supplies. She set the boy down and pulled it all out.

Soap. She picked up the bottle and Harry, and filled the sink, putting both in. She scrubbed the boy until he turned pink, then rinsed him off. He didn't make a sound. Petunia didn't care. She dressed him again, and set him down on the cupboard floor. She locked the door. The magic couldn't get to him there, no one would look there for him. That school, that _Hogwarts_ couldn't kill him if he just _stayed there_. He wouldn't die like Lily had if the magic couldn't find him.

Petunia put the cleaning supplies away under the sink. She walked into the living room. She stared at the photographs lining the walls, of herself, her husband and her son. Of the family she had, so very like the one Lily had given up. She hadn't been there to protect her from the magic, and it killed her.

At that, Petunia Evans began to cry.


	2. The Face That Launched A Thousand Ships

**Working Title: The Face That Launched A Thousand Ships**

_Helen liked kisses. And getting presents for them. Beauty, like Fleur said, was a key of gold._

_1988 - Autumn_

"Hey – hey you! Freak!"

Helen Potter looked up, blinking slowly. It was late in the day, after school, and she was _had_ been by herself in the play park, reading on the hot yellow plastic of the roundabout. But now someone else was there. This was very odd, because it _was_ very late, and most of the other children had left an hour ago for dinner. The sun was about to dip behind the trees.

"Are you deaf?" The new person asked. She was a very tall girl a few years above Helen at school: she sometimes pulled Helen's hair and called her a 'dyke,' because she wore Dudley's old things and so dressed like a boy.

"No..." Helen said softly, tucking her book under her. Hopefully the bigger girl wouldn't steal it; it belonged to the library. "Hello."

The bigger girl glowered, crossing her arms and tossing back her long blonde hair with a shake of her head. "Shut up," she snarled. "I'm going to try something," she told Helen, who nodded, watching the bigger girl as she strode forward and sat on the roundabout. She was turned to face Helen, one leg dangling off the edge and the other propped on the plastic, keeping Helen from ducking under the metal bars and running away.

"Now don't you say a word," the girl warned, and Helen nodded, even before the blonde added, "or else."

And then the bigger girl kissed her. Helen blinked, surprised, and then just – did nothing. She closed her eyes and leaned in.

Then the bigger girl's hand was gone from her hair, and she was standing again, glaring at Helen in the fading yellow daylight. "IF you tell anyone," she warned, "you'll be sorry – you kissed me back, _Freak._"

In a moment, the girl was gone, having hopped the chain link fence and run away. Helen sat on the roundabout for some time after, her cheeks pink, touching her lips in surprise. She'd never been kissed before. It felt nice.

After that, Helen started looking for ways to get kisses. She offered to do a ten year old boy in year four's homework – he'd had to repeat the year once already, and didn't want to stay back again. Risking the lurgy to pass was reasonable, in his opinion. She hemmed Veronica Pennington's school skirt when she ripped it on the playground. Then came Oliver Smith.

Oliver was a much older boy, in Helen's view, as a fifth year at St Grogory's Primary, versus her being in year three. He lived a few doors down from the Dursleys. Helen had run into him when she walked home, and it was from him that she found out that she could _get things back_ for kisses. This was a novel concept. Oliver had tapped her on the shoulder, and when she turned round, kissed her right on the lips.

He was quite a good kisser. After a moment, he'd let her go, and handed her a lolly he'd pulled out of his pocket, smiled, and turned down Magnolia Crescent, while Helen stared after him in shock. When he was out of sight, her gaze drifted to the red lolly still clutched in her tiny hand, and a smile slowly split her face.

Kisses were things people did when they liked each other. She knew that. She also knew that they felt nice. And now she knew that she could get presents for kisses, like Dudley got presents from Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia. It was almost like being loved.

Helen hid the sweet in her pocket as she walked home, floating on her own happy cloud, almost entirely oblivious to her relatives. She continued smiling while she cleaned Dudley's bedroom, made dinner, cleaned the kitchen, and made Uncle Vernon his after-dinner drink. She continued smiling when Dudley threw crisps at her head, when Aunt Petunia tried to hit her with a soapy frying pan, and when Uncle Vernon stormed out of the house, shouting at his wife before pulling out of the driveway and going to the pub.

It was a good day.

_1993 - Summer_

" _- No!"_ Helen shrieked, shooting up in her bed, heart pounding, covered in a cold sweat.

Gods, what an awful dream... Voldemort and Wormtail and that creepy snake... She shook her head, red strands of hair strung between her fingers as she clutched at her forehead. Her _scar_... She'd been having these dreams since the summer started. She just wanted them to _stop_.

A bird chirped outside, and she began to register the dim pre-dawn light streaming through her barred window. A glance at her alarm confirmed that it was barely five in the morning. Heaving a sigh, she got out of bed and began to dress. Maybe she'd go to the library, or the park – that cute boy, Daniel, always seemed to hang around there, and he was lots of fun.

Decided, she rummaged through her trunk, looking for a clean set of clothes that fit – her dorm mates really were wonderful, and after Lavender saw how awful Dudley's hand-me-downs were in first year, began giving Helen her old clothes after she outgrew them – then strong armed the other Gryffindors in their year into doing the same. After some searching, she found a waist-high tartan skirt and a loose cropped white t-shirt, from Hermione and Parvati, respectively.

Quietly, she slipped through her door and down the stairs, then out the kitchen door into the garden; Uncle Vernon had (very loudly so that all the neighbors knew how much money he was spending) installed a home security system early in the summer, and if she snuck out the front, the alarm would rouse the whole street. Better to go through the kitchen and nick a leftover dinner roll on her way out.

It really was quite simple to slip around the house, hop over the gate, and stroll up to Magnolia Crescent and go through the Lerwick's yard to the play park, and Helen did so with the ease of long years of practice.

Daniel wasn't there, but that clever friend of his, Gavin, was, reading a magazine and rocking lazily on the swing set. He was rather cute, Helen thought, in a boffinish, Cool Britannia sort of way, with his hair in curtains, a brown leather jacket, aviator glasses, and a Union Jack shirt. He was also a bit older than she was, something Helen had found she preferred, the fifteen year old being in year ten at Stonewall Secondary.

He looked up when she sat on the swing next to him, kicking at the dirt to push off so she could swing a bit. He smiled crookedly at her, and tucked his magazine inside his jacket – _BBC Focus,_ she realized, catching sight of the cover. A science magazine – it fit him.

"Hullo," she said quietly, smiling at him. His own smile widened, and he pushed back his dark hair, which was starting to fall into his eyes. Helen wondered if he would be a better kisser than Daniel, who was very nice, but whose kisses were, well, _mushy_. He made up for it with other things, though, and really was very sweet, offering to take her for an ice cream or to the zoo or museum sometimes.

"You're Helen, right?" Gavin asked. Helen nodded. "Cool. Daniel's girl?"

At this Helen shook her head. "Oh, no," she laughed. "I'm not anybody's girl. Although," she smiled coyly, flirting with him a little, "who knows? You could convince me to change that."

Gavin's eyebrows rose, and his lopsided smile turned very quickly lecherous. "Is that so?" he asked, leaning over to play with Helen's long red curls. "I know a... pretty nice place in the woods we could go. Want to?"

Helen bit her lip. "The woods? I dunno..."

"Come on – you'll really like it," he insisted, tugging at her hair. Helen's eyes closed and she sighed happily. "Think of it as an experiment."

"O-okay."

The sun was rising above the houses, now, and the two of them giggled as Gavin led the way through yards and across streets to the woods behind Hawthorn Walk, tripping over roots and things as they passed through the trees and a scrap metal fort. When they passed it, Gavin let go of her hand and covered her eyes with his hands, guiding her somewhere to the right of the structure. They walked for a few minutes, through a puddle or six, until Helen found herself being pushed onto a rock.

Blinking, she looked around. Gavin had discarded his leather jacket, now lying on the leaf-covered floor. She was sitting on one of several rocks jutting up around them, and there was a small stream close at hand. The trees were very close together here, making it more private than most of the wood.

And then Gavin was kissing her, and he _certainly_ knew what he was doing. Every shred of concentration he had was going into that kiss, and Helen loved it.

He pushed her back onto the rock and they were snogging, Helen keened in the back of her throat, and Gavin _growled_, of all things.

Then he pulled back. He was fiddling with his fly, which seemed to be giving him more trouble than she would expect. Then the zipper came undone and her mouth fell open in a small 'o' of surprise. Now she understood. He was... well.

Slowly, she stood up, and put a hand down to, ah, give him a hand. She'd done that a couple of times before, with some of the other boys. It could be quite fun, especially when they did it back. Gavin, however, seemed to disagree.

In a moment, he'd grabbed her wrists and was holding them up, snogging her, pushing her down again. Somewhat confused, Helen played along, wondering what exactly he was getting at.

"Have you – have you ever given a blow job before?" the boy asked, panting as they paused for breath. Helen shook her head, a bit dazed. "I'll tell you."

The hands clutching her wrists – very tightly, she thought vaguely – moved to push down on her shoulders, making Helen drop to her knees. She blinked, staring at what was in front of her. Reaching out a hand again, she stroked it, feeling a bubble of delight when Gavin groaned.

"D-don't – just your mouth. Open it." Helen stared. _"Open it._"

Helen's mouth dropped open. Gavin wrapped a hand in her hair and guided her toward him. She was a bit surprised at the taste – it was very salty. The hand in her hair pushed her forward further, and she gagged when he brushed the roof of her mouth.

Gavin's hand tightened in her hair, keeping her in place. Helen began to panic, trying to gasp for breath, but she couldn't get out of Gavin's grip. She whimpered, but the older boy didn't let go. He hushed her instead. "Breathe through your nose, and relax," he said in a strained voice, the hand in her hair and the one on her shoulder both tightening their hold. "I'll go slowly."

And he did. Go slowly, that is. There was a lot of giggling, and moaning, and hair pulling, and by the end of it Gavin was practically rutting against her face, and she was trying to swallow as much as she could. White dribbled down her chin, anyway, and she licked her lips, falling back onto her bum. The taste was bitter, like olives.

The two of them strolled easily back out of the woods, Gavin occasionally pushing her against a tree to kiss her, and tasting himself in her mouth just seemed to make him snog her harder. It was fun. Helen was sure that her top would stain if she didn't wash it soon, but she was able to cover it up by wearing Gavin's jacket, so nobody else noticed.

She had a lot of fun with Gavin that summer, seeing a lot of him. It wasn't a relationship, per se, not like they were boyfriend and girlfriend, but it was fun, and he was a very good teacher. Which was lucky for him, really – he wanted to either teach or be a physicist someday, possibly both. His mentioning that led to a very... _interesting_ role play in one of the private meeting rooms at the Little Whinging Public Library.

Extra credit, Professor, indeed.

_1994 - Autumn_

Helen made a point not to go after anybody at school. She wasn't quite sure why. In the Muggle world, she had no qualms about seeking out that spark, that warm feeling she got when she was with somebody. Among wizards, however? Helen didn't dare.

She very much realized that she would be considered – as Mrs Weasley put it – 'a scarlet woman' by magical standards. (By most standards, if she were being brutally honest.) It was almost stifling, the expectations everyone had for the perfect Girl-Who-Lived, but much as she found them irritating, Helen couldn't bring herself to shatter anyone's illusions.

The younger students, especially, looked up to her. She wasn't sure how she would handle it, if those looks changed.

She'd considered it, a few times. Some cute NEWT student, or a fifth year or someone would catch her eye, and she'd wonder what they'd be like. As she got older though? She looked around and half the students were her age or younger, now. She'd feel like a creep, kissing them.

So she didn't. Kiss anyone, that is. Except for Dean, that one time, when there was that game of Spin the Bottle in the Common Room. McGonagall had not been pleased when she broke it up at three in the morning.

Right now, though? Helen sat on a rock by the lake, studying furiously to try and figure out how to take on a dragon, of all things. And trying not to be distracted by her fellow champion as he did laps around the lake. She glanced up as he came closer again, her cheeks reddening from more than the cold. Eros, those arms...

No, no, she had her fun in the summers. Right now she needed to focus on staying alive. Again.

Dammit, what had the last three pages said?

With a huff, she flipped back and re-read the passages, annoyed at herself for blanking out. _Focus, Helen, focus!_ She stared resolutely at the text, becoming oblivious to everything around her, including the cold. It was better to be out here shivering than to be inside, with those wretched badges and the badgers.

Thus, she didn't notice when someone sat down beside her until a furry cloak was being wrapped around her shoulders.

Blinking, she looked up. "Krum? What're you doing?" she asked, blinking. She shook herself. "I mean, erm - hullo?" she thrust out a hand, and the other Seeker stared at it, bony and small as it jutted out from beneath the red cloth and fur.

"I vas finished vith laps," Krum answered easily. "I saw you vere cold. You are studying, _da?_"

Helen nodded. "Yeah. I mean – I need to, don't I? You lot have three years on me."

Krum nodded, looking serious as ever with his heavy eyebrows and hawkish nose. "That is true. But vhy you sit out here vhere is cold? The castle is being much varmer."

At this, Helen shrugged, hunching into herself again. He was just taking the mickey. Stupid, stupid, stupid – she'd thought he was being nice! Stupid Dark bastard...

"Potter? Vhat wrong? Vhat did I say?"

"Just stop it!" Helen snapped, pushing the heavy cloak off her shoulders. "You and everybody else in that _fucking castle_ knows I'm not a proper champion, and is wearing those stupid badges. I get it! Potter stinks! The great bloody cheating bint should go die in a hole!"

She slammed her book shut and stood with a scowl, glowering at the older boy, who was at eye level with her even when sitting. "Well guess what? I don't want to be in this stupid contest, so you can go and make fun of somebody else, because I'm _sick of it!_"

The crunch of gravel was the only warning she got as she turned on her heel, fully prepared to flounce off in a self-righteous huff. Instead, however, strong arms wrapped around her, turning her back to face Krum. He was staring at her, half-amused and half-baffled.

"I am forgetting how much dramatic efferyting is vhen you are fourteen," he snorted, staring down at her. The top of her head almost, _almost_ reached his chest. Her glower deepened. "I am not saying to hurt you. Vhy you get upset offer stupid badges? In fourth year at Durmstrang, I know magic to hex badges off. Vhy you cry instead?" he asked, putting the cloak around her again.

Helen shrugged. "Hexing them won't help," she muttered, staring at the ground. "They'll just get worse. They always get worse when you react."

Krum frowned at this, and grabbed her upper arm. "Come," he told her, pulling her toward the Durmstrang ship. "I teach you how curse vitout being caught. They stop vearing badges. You stop crying. Good?"

It took a few seconds for his words to register, and at that point he was already leading her up the gangplank to the deck. "I – yes, but – why are you helping me?"

The older champion didn't even turn around to answer. "You say you did not enter, I belief you. You so little you von't vin anyvay so vhy let you suffer?"

Well. That was... more condescending than she would prefer, but it was honest, at least, and he was helping her. That was better than anyone else at Hogwarts. Even Ron and Hermione didn't want anything to do with her anymore. Hermione hated cheating, and Ron was angry she didn't tell him how to do it.

Durmstrang's ship had a very large library, and Krum seemed to know it like the back of his hand. He grabbed three books, barely looking at the shelves, as they strode to a low table with a few squat, low-lying armchairs around it. Krum dropped the books on the table as they sat down, and pulled them open to different pages before shoving them across the table toward her.

"Here. These two books tell you runes and time-delay charms. Use third book for arranging runes, runes for curse, and time delay for keeping secret. Is simple. Children's vork."

"But – I don't know anything about runes," Helen said, baffled. "And how would I get them on the badges – don't you have to carve them into things?"

At this Krum reminded Helen very much of Hermione when the older girl thought something was simple, and Helen wasn't catching on quickly enough.

"Only permanent runes are being carfed; they vil get you caught. Cast runes vit vand, no-vone knows is you. Use wit time-delay charm, you haff alibi. Read books – they teach you things."

"Oh."

Helen pulled the books closer and began to read, occasionally asking Krum to explain a concept she didn't understand. Maybe she should have taken Runes. It certainly seemed more interesting than Muggle Studies or Arithmancy. Definitely more interesting than Arithmancy, which she had had to take with the fourth years last term, since the classes conflicted. At least this year she was with her own classmates.

By the time night fell outside and the fairy fire in the torches lit the library, Helen had a fairly good idea of how she would hex the badges. She handed her notes to Krum, who flipped through them with a pleased look on his face. He frowned contemplatively and nodded, handing them back to her.

"These are good. Vhy you not take Runes at Hogvarts? You haff talent."

A flush spread across Helen's cheeks. "Thanks. I dunno, really – I wasn't sure what it was when they had us choose electives, so I went with what looked familiar." Krum looked confused, so she exlained, wondering if he would get upset; Durmstrang was like a school for Malfoy's sort, wasn't it? People that hated Muggles? "I grew up with Muggles – I didn't even know about magic until I got my Hogwarts letter when I was eleven."

Krum didn't get upset. His frown deepened severely, but he didn't comment, only bade her to get up, saying that dinner would be starting soon and they needed to be there. Helen chose not to tell him she'd been skipping meals whenever she could, to avoid the other students.

The spell worked. All of the students wearing a badge turned to _Potter Stinks_ suddenly found themselves selling of manure for a month, if not longer. The ones who never changed it from _Potter Stinks_ suddenly had their buttons singing rudely to teachers – in front of guests, so points _had_ to be taken, and detentions given, in order to save face.

After all, what sort of 'fine institution' allowed such blatant and gauche harassment to go unpunished?

Helen began to ponder how she would pay Krum back. Her first thought was the way she normally paid someone back – kisses, hand jobs and such. But this was the wizarding world, and she'd set up rules for herself.

But Krum was older. She wouldn't be taking advantage. And he was so nice, too.

Then she found out about the dragons – she had to tell him. And they were even again. Oddly, though, Krum stayed close, sometimes chatting with her in the corridors, or taking her out to join him on laps around the lake. They studied in the libraries – in the castle and on the ship – and he was a very good teacher. They taught so much at Durmstrang, and so many of the techniques helped her own magic flow more freely.

Why didn't they teach those things at the 'premier magical school of Europe'?

The year passed quickly. Helen had great fun with Viktor at the Yule Ball, dancing and laughing the night away. In his words 'Ve both need dates; you are tolerable.' The Tournament was an ever-present cloud, looming over her, but the older boy made the rain ease, some. She actually did well in the Second Task, much to her own surprise: she'd spent the entire fortnight beforehand planning and practicing the rune array she would carve into her body with her wand that would allow her to swim with great speed and to breath water as if it were air.

None of it was shown to Viktor outside of the 'would this kill me if I tried it – what do you think of these Runes versus those hieroglyphs, theoretically speaking?' planning stages a month prior, of course. But she'd shown him after and he'd been quite impressed – even more so than when she had reasoned with the dragon in the First Task.

Chinese Fireballs were very closely related to serpents, even for dragons. Thank the gods for Parseltongue – she'd been planning to out _fly_ the creature before she heard it talk. What a stupid idea _that_ was.

And then the Third Task came. And Cedric died.

It was all her fault.

Helen was devestated – she hadn't been friends with Diggory, but he hadn't deserved to die. _Kill the spare?_ She was the spare! He should have been the only Hogwarts Champion! And if she hadn't told him to grab the cup with her...

She was entirely to blame.

Afterwards, she ignored Viktor as she'd ignored Ron and Hermione all year, ever since they abandoned her. It hurt to think that she was abandoning him the same way, but... she wasn't willing to chance him dying because she was stupid.

When she returned to Privet Drive, she was hardly in the house for an hour before she left again, dressed as prettily as possible, and began going through a long string of boys and girls, trying desperately to forget.

Nigel, Evie, Dominic, Alfie, Joan, William, Danielle, Royce, Harry, Mark, Ruby, Sean, Giles, Matilda, Corey, Andrew, Aurora, Lee, Rashid, Jessminda, Gene, Ronald(she avoided even thinking of his name, but he was _very_ fit), Nicole, Charles, George, Christopher, Olivia.

It was fun, it was mindless, and it stopped her from thinking about the cold sweat nightmares, the letters that piled up every day from Viktor, and of Voldemort's return. In the Muggle world she was just a pretty girl that put out. She learned a lot from her various companions, and they never seemed in short supply.

Even in the Muggle world, she had a reputation.

She ended up fucking Charles and Sean in the woods, one behind her while she sucked the other off. Anal was... not the uncomfortable experience she'd been told it would be. Although, Charles had had plenty of practice with Sean before her, so that wasn't entirely unexpected. Major bonus, there was no chance of her getting pregnant that way.

They both still had to wear condoms. She'd found flavored ones.

Cherry. Yum.

By the time she went back to Hogwarts, she was okay. She'd cried everything out, wrung herself out enough that now she could focus. She became very Hermione-like, spending great periods of time studying.

Viktor had taught her one thing, if nothing else: the more you know, the more you can do. She was surprised to find that much of the magic he'd been teaching her to control her magic more easily was normally only helpful to people with innately Dark magic. She supposed it must just be a fluke – after all, the Girl-Who-Lived couldn't possibly be Dark. It was preposterous. So emotional magics came more easily to her – she just refused to think on it.

By the end of the year, despite the awful nightmares, despite the death of Mr Weasley and the ever-present burning in her scar, despite everyone's surety in her insanity, she thought things might go alright. She'd kept a journal of every Voldemort dream, and had a good amount of information to hand over to Dumbledore on the last day of school. Various followers, who he recruited, that bloody snake.

She collapsed halfway through her History of Magic exam.

Her Firebolt was fast – she got to the Ministry in time to save Remus. She thought. It was a setup. And she was alone, against a half a dozen Death Eaters trying to steal a prophecy about _her_. And she refused to cry when she immersed herself in _their_ magical reserves instead of her own, and instead of feeling it to control it, ripped it from them. They'd be fine, but she managed to knock out three with the forced magical exhaustion.

It seemed like she'd get away, no casualties.

Until Remus came to save her. He'd had Dobby watching over her all year. He'd been worried when she had retreated so far into her shell, refused to talk to her former best friends. So when she ran to the Ministry, Dobby ran to Remus, and Reums came to save his almost-goddaughter.

The irony was not lost on her. Lucius Malfoy had thrown a sickly orange curse at her, when Remus jumped in the way – too far – and dove into the Veil of Death, keeping her from being hit.

Dumbledore had arrived to find Helen throwing curse after curse after curse at Voldemort, ducking and hiding and _screaming_ her pain. The Fountain of Magical Brethren stood untouched by it all. Every scrap of glass in the Atrium chased after the Dark Lord as a fleet of bees, trying to pierce his heart. At least until he managed to Apparate away.

The standard nighttime anti-Portkey, anti-Apparation, anti-Floo wards had come down when the Minister and a group of Aurors came in to apprehend the intruders, allowing said intruders to get away.

At least they knew Voldemort was back, now?

Helen refused to leave her bed for the rest of the week. She neither ate nor slept. She passed out as she dragged herself down the grand staircase into the Entrance Hall. Two days later, she awoke at the Dursley's. Who now knew that her werewolf friend, the only line of protection she'd had against them, was dead and unable to come after them. She'd never told them about Sirius, afraid that they would go to the police. They wouldn't believe her if she told them, now. They'd think she was lying.

The summer was going to suck.

She couldn't leave the house, on both Dumbledore's and the Dursley's orders. She couldn't see anyone. She cooked and cleaned and repainted the hallway, polished tile in the bathrooms and kitchen, and waxed the hardwood everywhere else. She ducked frying pans and Dudley's punches and Vernon knocked her into walls when he passed.

She made him drinks every night after he fought with her Aunt, who apparently was an ice queen and never home, at that. Petunia preferred her ladies' clubs and long weekends with her friends to her husband's company.

When Vernon came home from the pub with a blonde not much older than Helen on his arm, it gave her an idea.

She took note of who he looked at. Young, pretty, very little clothing. That seemed to be all Vernon required. Well, that and a smile, telling him how _right_ he was, how kind and generous.

A long time ago, Helen learned that she could get a lollipop for a kiss with boys and girls around the neighborhood. What could she do with Vernon, and what could she get out of it?

Helen deftly locked away the part of her mind that screamed in protest, both at the fact that the man was legally her uncle and the fact that he was a revolting, cruel piece of shit. But he could be useful. Vernon had a habit of giving extravagant gifts to his little girlfriends, and treating them like they were made of china and glass.

That would be leagues better than being treated like less than dog shit. So long as she let him bugger her. When Dudley beat her black and blue one day for getting in the way of the telly, she made her decision.

The many clothes in her trunk somehow found themselves accidentally shrunk in the dryer, or torn so that she just _had_ to alter them, and the too-big things, well, they were stuffed into her pillow case, where they'd at least be useful.

It might have taken Vernon three days to notice. Two more to start salivating. A few looks here, and smile there, twirl her hair... within the fortnight, Vernon didn't care that she'd 'fallen asleep' in the middle of her chores, her head lolling between his legs where she'd passed out, slumped against the couch. After a few drinks, he didn't even question why she was sitting in his lap. He just enjoyed the show.

A week later, Petunia went on a cruise with Yvonne, and Vernon kicked Dudley out to spend it with with his buddy Malcolm down the road. Meanwhile, Helen played bed warmer, and didn't get beat on once. If she took frequent, hot showers, Vernon didn't comment. He had a pretty girl with an easy smile and a talented mouth to keep him happy.

Thank the gods for the Contraceptus Elixir, though. Mr Dursley didn't like the word no, and Helen was quite glad to have started the potion earlier that year, taking advantage of one of it's side effects, the near abolition of cramps.

If Moody noticed that she was in her Aunt and Uncle's bed when the Order showed up to take her to the Weasley's, he didn't say anything. The Order's new pet werewolf, Geri Hemming, didn't mention anything that he smelled, either.

Helen took advantage of the heavy wards at the Grimmauld Place to cast so, so many cleaning charms. Mrs Weasley had a knack for smelling what she shouldn't, and there was a meeting tonight. Which Helen wasn't allowed to attend. Still. Fucking lovely.

Idiots.

She spent a lot of time in the Black family library. Ron and the rest of the Weasley's were in the house, and Hermione was, too. For some reason none of them noticed the library, or at least didn't think to look for Helen inside it, so she spent hours among the stacks of books, her back resting against the shelves, absorbing book after book after book.

Far better than being with those two bloody traitors. She did _ not_ need fair-weather friends, she had a war to fight, a Dark Lord to kill. She needed people that stuck by her, and so far, the only ones that came close were a blonde girl who'd helped her in the library, Luna, and Neville, who she still wasn't sure she trusted, even if they hadn't been close before the Tournament.

After about a week, during which she had Dobby sneak her food occasionally, Sirius found her. She was curled up near the end of a row, reading _Guidance of Magic_ by Adalbert Genje, her hair tied back, in a loose sweater and jeans – very different from the dolled up fashion she'd arrived in.

The book was fascinating, explaining how to teach a young child, a beginner, to feel their magic and identify their emotions so as to prevent magical accidents. This was something far more common, and often more destructive, with children born with a Dark magical affinity.

Sirius was squatting in front of her when she finally looked up, his eyebrows raised, an expectant expression on his face.

"So," he began, rocking a little on the balls of his feet, "how did you find this place?"

Now that made Helen confused. "I... walked in?" she said slowly, wondering why it was a surprise. Sirius knew she read a lot – had he expected her to _ignore_ the books here? She had the previous summer, but she'd been trying to sooth Remus' worries about her, then.

Remus wasn't around, anymore. Sirius didn't need her to make him feel better.

But the man shook his head. "That's not what I meant. You shouldn't even be able to _see_ this place, let alone walk in."

Oh. It must be one of those blood things she'd read about. "Dad's Mum was Black, Sirius," she said lightly. "It can't be that much of a surprise that the wards let me in."

"Helen." The man said flatly, as if her thought she were joking. "My family didn't trust anyone – _especially_ relatives. They had blood wards, yes, but there was far more than that."

"Okay..."

"Only someone with a Dark affinity can get into this library – into half the rooms in this house. The top two floors are invisible to most of the Order!" Sirius eyed her carefully, and his mouth dropped open when he saw his goddaughter's face drain of color, but for two high spots of red on her cheeks. "You didn't know."

"I'm not a Death Eater!" Helen snapped angrily. "Gods – you're just as bad as Ron! I don't believe you!" she snarled, standing up. How dare he? She wasn't Dark! She was a good person!

Sirius pulled her down by her wrist, and turned her to look at him. "Helen," he said calmly, a smile playing at the corners of his mouth, "the world isn't split between good people and Death Eaters – having a Dark core doesn't make you evil. You don't think I'm a Death Eater, do you? Or that Moony was? Mad-Eye certainly isn't, and neither are Tonks or Bill – or that friend of yours, Fleur." He shook his head. "It's something you're born with, like your eyes.

"Frankly, I'm glad you did find this place. At your age, without any training, and at your power level? If you didn't learn how to control your magic you'd be blowing things up because you couldn't find your second quill," Sirius snorted. "I'm surprised you haven't had any incidents since you blew up that Marge woman, actually."

Helen stared. "I-I didn't... Viktor," she whispered, shocked. Those exercises she'd taught her... she'd thought it was a fluke that they worked! Those had been Dark magic? "Fourth year – he helped me."

"That boy that's been writing you the past year? Hmph." Sirius hummed, but didn't say anymore. The two of them sat there for some time, just talking. Helen promised to leave the Library from time to time (she fully intended that to happen only when no-one else was awake and about) and Sirius told her about the ways her magic worked.

It was nice.

She did eventually leave the library...intending to sneak to Diagon Alley. She'd stayed secluded in the Library when Mrs Weasley took the others; the only reason she hadn't insisted Helen come was because Sirius said she'd be going later.

Well, she didn't want an entire guard with her, and she was perfectly capable of defending herself, thanks – the Ministry should be proof enough of _that_. She got up very early, before anyone should reasonably be awake, and she just had to be quiet when she Flooed. Nobody would catch her.

"_Mor_ning."

...Fuck.

Helen turned around slowly on her heel to see Bill Weasley leaning against the stove, mug of tea in one of his hands, arms crossed over his chest.

"Er... Hi?"

Bill raised an eyebrow, eerily reminiscent of Professor Snape, and set the mug down. "Where were you going?" he asked, pulling his jacket from the back of a mismatched chair and shaking it out.

"Diagon Alley," she muttered, crossing her arms and staring at him resolutely. "I have to get my school things."

"And you know that you were supposed to have a guard for that."

"But I don't _need_ one!"

The eldest Weasley boy gave her a long look. "Never said you did. Come on, then." He walked over the table, hooked his arm through hers. "Flourish and Blott's should be opening in a few minutes."

This was an alternate dimension. It had to be.

_What?_

They spent longer than she expected at the book shop; gathering her school books only took a few minutes, but then Bill pulled her over to get a few fat and slim tomes that he said would be helpful. "Sirius talked to me," he explained, when she'd asked. "And Tonks and Fleur."

"Oh. Does Dumbled–"

"Nope," he said, popping the 'p' at the end. "Come on, Malkin's next."

"Erm, okay."

This was so weird.

"You want to grab a scone from one of the stalls? They've got elderberry, Miss Good-People-Versus-Death-Eaters."

"Well – your mother was a hamster, so there."

Bill threw his head back and laughed.

Two weeks later, Tonks, Bill, and Sirius were escorting her to King's Cross Station; the Weasleys, as a whole, were genetically incapable of keeping their things straight, and when Molly saw Helen sitting on her trunk by the front door, she shooed her and the rest of the volunteer guard out, telling them to leave without her and her brood.

Ron wasn't very happy.

Now, Bill had gone ahead to the Platform, while Tonks lagged behind Helen and 'Snuffles' disguised as a round-faced blonde Goth girl, playing with a cell phone and blowing bubble gum. The phone was in fact just a case, holding an enchanted two-way mirror, which Bill would use to tell Tonks if the way was clear or not.

And Viktor Krum was sitting on a bench beside the barrier, staring straight at Helen. The redhead's eyes widened, and she gulped.

What the hell was he doing here? How did he even know where the platform was? For fuck's sake – she hadn't answered his letters in over a year of sending them! He should have given up by now! Snuffles noticed her stiffen, and growled at Viktor as the Bulgarian strode over, his face lit up, happy.

"Helen," he said, nodding to her. The corners of his mouth twitched, forming a small smile that was as expressive as the man ever got in public.

"What the hell are you doing here?!" Helen asked in a strained voice, looking around. Viktor frowned.

"I haff come to talk vit you. You did not answer letters, so I come in person." He frowned, eyes roving over her face thoughtfully. "Vhy you never answer?"

"This isn't the time, Viktor," Helen ground out, trying to nudge Sirius away with her foot. The dog animagus sat down, tongue lolling out and a stupid look on his furry face. She glowered at him for a moment before turning back to Krum. "Look, I'll write, okay? Just – not now. There's a lot going on and you don't need to be in the middle of it."

Apparently that was the wrong thing to say, because Viktor's eyebrows raised and he crossed his arms, not budging an inch. "Exactly. Vhen I read papers, they say you are insane. You do not write to me, so I cannot see vhat is happening vit you. Then, in summer, I read your Dark Lord is alife. Tell me vhat is going on, Helen. I vant to know."

"Well I don't want you to know, alright?" Helen snapped, upset. "I want you to go back to Bulgaria and have a nice, safe life playing Quidditch and escaping fan girls – _not_ trying to get involved with a stupid teenager with a Dark Lord after her. All that'll happen is that you'll get hurt!"

Viktor and Snuffles both snorted. "Da, and bludgers are perfectly safe. If I vish to be infolfed vit English var, I vill be. Vhether I am friends vit you or not."

"Don't! Just – stop it, alright? You'll get hurt, and I don't want anyone else in harm's way over me!" It was bad enough that she couldn't convince Neville and Luna to stand down, damn it.

"Please. I do not get hurt. I attend Durmstrang – I know better magic than Death Eaters."

Helen scowled. "And how can you know that? There's always someone better out there!"

He shrugged. "I am me. I vill be fine."

"Ugh! You don't get it! Look – I'll write you, okay? Just _leave._"

"No. You are not pushing me avay again, Helen. You vill write me letter on train, and I vill get it tonight. You vill not ignore me."

"_Fine._ Just go!_"_

The man dipped his head. "For now. I vill see you later," he said pleasantly, and in an easy gesture took her hand in his and kissed it. "Haff safe journey."

Helen couldn't even muster a reply, and stared at the space he'd occupied before Apparating away. Tonks came up after he'd gone and ushered her through the barrier, insisting Helen write and tell her what happened, or at least use her two-way mirror once she'd gotten on the train. Helen nodded dumbly, wondering what the fuck had just gone on.

She locked herself in a compartment with Neville and Luna, flicking a few charms at the door to keep people away, and chatted idly with them while rummaging through her trunk to find Viktor's last letter. She kept them all in a pocket in the lining, but they weren't organized by date or anything.

Or at all, in fact.

Thus it took a bit of doing to figure out which was the most recent. When she finally did, Helen spent most of the rest of the train ride scribbling out a note to Viktor. Luna giggled when Helen told her what she was doing, which Helen found odd, but let go. If the blonde girl wanted to explain, she would.

Probably.

Around noon, there was a knock at the compartment door, making Amaryllis jump and splatter ink all over her page. With a huff, she cast an erasure spell, vanishing the wettest ink on the parchment. The splatters were gone, but so were the last three lines! She clucked her tongue as she removed the charms from the door and opened it, Neville right behind her, in case it was someone unpleasant.

It was a first year, standing there, a pair of little scrolls clutched in hand as she stared, starry-eyed, and 'the Chosen One' – if Helen ever figured out which idiot started that whole line of nonsense, she'd use one of the curses she'd learnt this summer and eviscerate them, or skin them alive.

"I'm supposed to deliver these to Neville Longbottom and Helen Potter," she said breathlessly, staring unabashedly at the latter. Helen tried not to grimace and took the scrolls handing one to Neville.

The little things were bound in violet ribbons, Helen noticed, the compartment door sliding shut behind her. Nice quality parchment, too – but what were they? Sharing a shrug with Neville, she pulled it open and read it.

_Helen,_

_I would be delighted if you would join me for a bite of lunch in Compartment C._

_Sincerely,_

_Professor H. E. F. Slughorn_

"Are you going, then?" Luna asked, looking between her two friends. Neville blinked.

"Going?"

"They're invitations, aren't they? Are you going?"

Helen answered, by now used to Luna's Holmes-like deductions. "I suppose," she said, pocketing the scroll. "He's probably the new Defense Professor – I don't want to get on their bad side. For all we know, they could actually last until next year." She rolled her eyes; like that would ever happen.

Neville nodded in agreement. "I will, too... Do you think it'll be alright to bring you?"

Luna shook her head. "Oh, it's alright. I'm perfectly happy sitting in the compartment – in an hour, we should be passing the most lovely lake. I do look forward to seeing it every year. You know, I think it may have Gulping Plimpies in it?"

The two invitees made their way across the carriage, Helen trying not to scowl at the multitude of students throuwing themselves out of their compartments to get a better look at her. There were enough people out, already, looking for the lunch trolley. No need to add more! Neville put a calming hand on her shoulder, but she shrugged it off.

Upon reaching compartment C, they saw immediately that they were not the only ones this Professor Slughorn had invited, which made Helen relax a little. She supposed the new professor probably just wanted to get a feel for his new students, and had picked out names he knew, or at least knew the relatives of.

"Helen, m'dear!" Slughorn exclaimed, jumping as she and Neville entered. He was a very fat man, in a velvet waistcoat with straining gold buttons that barely held in his very large stomach. Helen tried not to be reminded of Vernon, which was difficult, considering the similarly large mustache. \\

"Good to see you, good to see you! And you must be Mr. Longbottom!" he added, catching sight of Neville as the tall boy shut the door behind them.

Neville nodded, looking nervous and fiddling with the bottom of his sweater vest until Helen elbowed him. The two stood there awkwardly for a moment until a gesture from Slughorn, bidding them to sit in the only empty seats there.

Glancing around at the other guest, Helen felt surprised that several of them were upper years. If Slughorn was trying to get to know his students, wouldn't the younger ones be a better route? Then again, he may not be expecting to last the year, since no-one ever did. If that were the case, then Helen's estimation of the man went up a notch.

"Now, do you know everyone?" Slughorn was asking, and Helen turned away from her examinations to listen to him. "Blaise Zabini is in your year, of course–" the tall, swarthy Slytherin gave Neville a nod, ignoring Helen completely; the girl was used to this, as Zabini felt anyone not a pureblood was entirely beneath his notice. It made Arithmancy interesting – the teacher was a half-blood like she was.

"This is Cormac McLaggen, perhaps you've come across each other – ? No?" Helen had, but she didn't like the seventh year Gryffindor. He was an ass. " – and this is Marcus Belby, I don't know whether – ?"

Belby was wiry and unfamiliar, but had a nice, if strained, smile.

"Well now, this is most pleasant," Slughorn finished with a cheerful clap. "A chance to get to know you all a little better. Here, take a napkin. I've packed my own lunch; the trolley, as I remember it, is heavy on licorice wands, and a poor old man's digestive system isn't quite up to such things... Pheasant Belby?"

Belby jumped in his seat and accepted what looked like half a cold pheasant.

"I was just tellingyoung Marcus here that I had the pleasure of teaching his Uncle Damocles," Slughorn told the new arrivals, now passing around a basket piled with buttery buns. "Outstanding wizard, outstanding, and his Order of Merlin most well-deserved. Do you see much of your uncle, Marcus?"

Belby shook his head, swallowing hastily. "Not... not much of him, no," the boy said quickly. "He and dad don't get on well..."

Helen's eyes narrowed as Slughorn's smile stiffened and turned cold before the walrus-like man turned to MmcLaggen. As the introductions were made, Helen's suspicions were confirmed. Slughorn had not, in fact, invited them here to get an idea of his students, but to make connections with the well-known or influential.

The man all to quickly came to Nneville, who stammered and was very uncomfortable as the new teacher went on about his parent, who had been brilliant Aurors before being tortured to insanity by Bellatrix Lestrange, one of Voldemort's followers, and a few Death Eater cronies.

By the time the poor boy finished, half-reverting to the stuttering, terrified boy Helen had met in first year, Helen got the idea Slughorn was reserving judgement on her friend, and it made her want to punch the man.

"And now," the man said, shifting his enormous girth to face Helen. "Helen Potter! Where to begin? 'The Chosen One,' they're calling you now!"

Helen said nothing for a moment, contemplating the man while Zabini, McLaggen and Belby stared. Neville was fiddling with his sweater vest again.

"Of course, there have been rumors," Slughorn added, watching Helen intently, "For years, really... I remember when, well – after that terrible night – Lily – James – and you survived – and the word was that you must have powers beyond the ordinary – "

Ignoring Zabini's amused and skeptical cough, Helen smiled wryly. "Oh, I wouldn't be so sure, Professor," she said pleasantly, a cold smile much like his when he'd finished with Belby adorning her face. "Aside from being a Parselmouth, I don't have any truly renowned gifts, and they never did perform the core testing that was scheduled fourth year – too much going on, I think, with the Tournament and all."

At this, Slughorn didn't seem to know what to say. Helen was pleased: most people didn't just come out and admit to having Dark abilities, which speaking to snakes frankly was. It came from lines that had bred with the Naga of India, Lamia of Greece, Bai Niangzi of China, and other such creatures.

Even if everyone in the compartment knew she could speak Parseltongue, admitting it made them... uncomfortable. Which was exactly what Helen was going for. Slughorn shifted awkwardly for a moment while Helen continued smiling pleasantly. Finally, the man seemed to find something to say.

"Indeed, the Tri-Wizard Tournament! Quite the show you all put on – and you, the fourth champion! It did give everyone such a shock... Helen, m'dear, do you and the others keep in touch?"

Helen raised an eyebrow. "I saw Fleur several times this past summer – she'd engaged to a friend of mine, a cursebreaker at Gringotts – and Viktor saw me off this morning."

Admittedly, that all made them sound far closer than they actually _were_, but Helen saw no problem with that. She was the Girl-Who-Lived, Slughorn would be after her either way. She could probably use Fleur and Viktor as a way to beg off talking to him 'the wedding is coming up after all... have to plan...' That could work.

Much of the rest of the meal was spent listening to the new professor's long-winded reminiscing, anecdotes about illustrious wizards the man had known and kept in contact with, and, finally, his 'Slug Club.'

It turned out that he'd taught a Hogwarts years ago, when their parents had been students, and had been in the habit of collecting promising and well-connected students during his time there. Now that he was back (and how strange it was, Helen thought , that the former Potions Master was now the Defence teacher) at the school, he wished to start it up again. Wonderful.

Darkness had fallen when they were finally let go, Slughorn's grinning overtures behind them for now, as they strode through the blessedly empty corridor to Luna and their compartment. The conuctor's tinny voice sounded throughout the train as they slid inside, announcing that they would be arriving at Hogsmeade station in fifteen minutes' time.

Luna, the dear, had their robes already out, and Trevor in a conjured, florescent pink glass cage. He looked quite happy in the water, beside the lime green-haired mermaid statue inside. Helen quickly signed off her letter to Viktor, with a post-script apologizing for the abrupt ending, explaining that 'the newest idiot in our long, illustrious (not) line of Defense professors decided to schmooze with his students' and she hadn't felt it prudent to snub the man before term even officially started. She sent Hedwig off through the window, just as the tallest turrets came into view.

The Welcome Fest was as delicious as ever, of course, and Helen eagerly dug into her potatoes and kedgeree, enjoying eating as much as she liked. The Sorting went on as it ever did, of course, though Helen had smiled at a few familiar names joining Gryffindor – younger siblings and the like.

One odd thing that she noticed, however, was that Snape was missing. The dour man wasn't scowling out at the Great Hall from the Head Table, and Helen wondered where he'd gone... Was he spying on Voldemort? Had he been sent on some dangerous mission? Helen secretly hoped so – maybe he'd be doing something awful and embarrassing. The great awful bat deserved no less.

"The very best of evenings to you!" Dumbledore's voice rang as the food disappeared. The man's arms were spread wide inwelcome, and he seemed entirely oblivious to the mutterings that wove through the Hall at the sight of his dead-looking, black left hand.

"Holy Mother," Lavender Brown whispered beside Helen. "What happened to his had?"

"Nothing to worry about," Dubledore smiled, covering the hand with a purple-and-gold sleeve. Helen scoffed. "Now... to our new students, welcome! To our old students, welcome back! Another year full of magical education awaits you..."

At this point Helen began to tune him out, not particularly caring about Filch's various new bans – the entirety of the Weasley's Wizard Wheezes catalog – or instructions about Quidditch try-outs. She and the rest of the captains would set up try-outs if needed, the same as ever.

"...We are sad to bid farewell to our Potions Master, Professor Severus Snape, but I'm sure you'll all give a rousing welcome to his replacement, Professor Horace Slughorn!"

A great cheer rose up from the students, and Dumbledore waited a moment for it to die down. "As I was saying," he continued with a wink, "Professor Slughorn is a former colleague of mine who has graciously agreed to resume his former post, and duties as Head of Slytherin House and Hogwarts' own Potions Master."

"Potions?"

"_Potion?"_

The word echoed throughout the Hall as people were left scratching their heads over this new development. Most of them wondered if they'd heard that right. It seemed most people hadn't listened to _what_ exactly, Hslughorn was there for, just that Snape was gone because of him.

Helen's brows furrowed, though. If Slughorn was the new Potions Master, then who...?

"Meanwhile," Dumbledore said over the mutterings, as if oblivious to his student's very loud confusion, "I am very pleased to welcome back a former guest at Hogwarts as Defense Against the Dark Arts professor – Durmstrang's own Tri-Wizard Champion, _Viktor Krum!_"

The golden fork previously twirling in Helen's fingers dropped onto her plate with a clatter, the sound entirely unnoticed among the raucous cheering of the Hogwarts student body. Viktor came out from a side chamber – the same that the four champions had gone in after being picked, in fact – as his name was announced, his famous serious scowl in place as he took his place at the teachers' table.

What. An. Arse.

He was _teaching_ here?! The hell? Why didn't he mention that!

Seeing a familiar roll of parchment – her letter – sticking out of the man's robes, Helen crossed her arms and suddenly could not wait for her first Defense class.

The _fuck?_

**Notes: This is something I really want to continue... but as of yet, I don't have any ideas. May post a second part later.**

**Helen was a lot of fun to write: when I got the idea, I never expected to actually _like_ her as a character. But I do. She's very honest, I think. And Viktor is always nice. :-)**

**And remember – Eat Your Rikkios!**

**12 October 2013**


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